An Insertion Into The Scarlet Letter
by Lady Arnirien
Summary: Completes unexplained portions of Nathaniel Hawthorne's classic work, focusing on important events in Hester's life after her departure from Boston and before her return and attempting to illustrate her emotional growth. A first fanfic.


_**Author's Note:**_ This was written for a school assignment September 2006 as an insertion into The Scarlet Letter. We were to explain what happened to Hester Prynne during her time away from Boston, filling the holes in time in Hawthorne's Chapter 24. Back then I had further ideas for the plot; I intend to extend this, provided I can find my old notes.

I also attempted to replicate Nathaniel Hawthorne's writing style as part of the assignment. Please keep this in mind when reading and reviewing. Thanks for choosing to view my first fanfic, and I hope you enjoy.

* * *

The wind flushed Hester's cheeks with biting chill as her eyes gazed out of the cove, her sight attempting to reach beyond even the Old World, hidden as it was from her by the impenetrable blue curtain of the sea. Dark clouds of grey congregated in the heavens above, and the sea itself rolled tempestuously, relentlessly flinging itself upon the shore and hissing its complaint at being ever drawn back. Hester had seated herself upon a stone weathered smooth by the efforts of the ocean, and which, during the low tide, had been dried by the sun before it was forced back above the tent of billowing grey. Her thoughts carried her back to Boston-town, only a few minutes distant on foot; she knew what was transpiring there, and this was a singular instance in that she was not displeased to be alone while it did so. For that morning, she knew, they laid his worldly remains to rest and offered prayers for the salvation of his soul. Her mind reached out to her neighbors, "Why prayest thou, oh townsmen, for a man thou knowest full well to be condemned by God even as he has been by his fellow man? Canst thine hearts deceive thee, feigning that such supplication be sincere? Perhaps thine can; however, mine cannot." Then her thoughts went to her husband; in this manner she wished him her last farewell, "Could not thy vindictive heart permit ye to forgive? Who wouldst thou have become, had I not paved the way for thy destruction? Alas! none now shall know! I argue not that my action was one without sin, – I knew even then it was! – but for all thy nobleness why couldst thou not stagger onward despite my fall? Woe to thee, my husband, that you did not." Tears blurred her view of the sea as she wept for the ruin of Dimmesdale's happiness, for the sure damnation of Chillingworth's soul, and for the shadow that lay across her little Pearl's existence. She wept, too, for her own weakness, as, at least in part, the cause of so much evil. 

Hester turned and faced Pearl, but a few yards away making sailing ships from seashells, and called the girl to her. Pearl at once came, walking slowly, gracefully...and laid her head upon her mother's breast. Hester's tears flowed all the more freely, as she clasped the child to her and thought, "Forgive me, beloved Pearl; forgive me, Almighty God, the half-hearted and hesitant love I gave the gift I hold in my arms! Wouldst that thou could have been mine without such evil; yet, the guilt of my sin is easier, for I may say 'Who would I be without my Pearl?' Forsooth! I care for thee no less than still I adore the memory of thine sire." Pearl stood long, accepting her mother's embrace and clinging to her warmly in return, feeling the salt of Hester's tears tingle as they trickled down her face, but they were ever conscious of the scarlet letter even then betwixt them.

* * *

The summer sun warmed the deck of a small sailing vessel as it skimmed swiftly across a glassy sea. Hester stood near the bow against the railing, watching Amsterdam grow larger in her view with an eagerness only partly veiled by decorum. A warm and gentle breeze, coupled with her excitement, brushed a slight flush across her face as she lifted it to the morning light. Pleasant anticipation marked her whole bearing; Pearl, too, was cheerful at the thought of coming departure from the ship, the amusements onboard long exhausted by her unceasing curiosity, and at the prospect of witnessing the bustle of a harbor surely different from that of London. The child was scampering about the deck, rushing port to starboard and fore and aft in a desperate and hopeless attempt to absorb the whole view, unheeded and unchecked by her mother, who was deeply wrapped in reverie. Hester's hand unclasped the bulwark and stole briefly over her heart before slipping over the emblem of her sin. Her fingers detected a single thread surrounding the scarlet 'A', pulled loose from the cloth, undoubtedly, by endless use and numerous launderings, and began deftly to extract it. The intricate stitch was steadily removed, though Hester's eyes remained fixed on her destination, until finally the thread was completely detached, and the red piece of cloth fell from her bosom into her open hand. Then, at last, Hester looked down at the bit of cloth, faded now, which ever had been her constant attendant and the continual herald of both her transgression and her isolation. 

Only once before, in the long eight years since her first emergence from the prison to stand before her fellow colonists, had her dress been unadorned by it. She marveled at the difference between that instance and this, for she felt no flush of exultation nor thrill of freedom; nay, now, though again her vestment was free from the despicable token, her humor remained unchanged. Yes, the scarlet letter lay in the palm of one hand, while the other fingering the place long experience insisted it should yet be, but she felt not its lack. Its evidence was still visible to others, no longer through a physical emblem, but instead in Hester's every movement, her every word, and in each expression of her solemn face. This indelible mark lay not now upon her clothes; instead it lay upon her heart. Thus the scarlet letter 'A' became what it was before Hester's flashing needle fixed it to her garment; it became once again a bit of cloth, having no significance and laying no impression whatsoever. Hester again grasped the bulwark, and extended her opposite hand until naught lay below it but the sea. Separated from her mind that hand seemed to be, as slowly and deliberately it opened, finger by finger, until it released what now seemed to Hester an item of no consequence. As it slipped from her fingers Hester turned away, and motioned her wide-eyed daughter to her side.

Pearl, with but the slightest hesitation, strode quickly forward to be enveloped in her mother's close and at last unimpeded embrace. Hester rested her chin upon the child's head with dry and calmly closed eyes, but Pearl watched the scarlet letter as the touch of the water from below gradually darkened its hue, until the crest of a wave broke over it and ushered it down into the depths which her eyes could not penetrate.

* * *

In the dim light of a room with drapes drawn closed, Hester stood by her daughter's bed side, concern visible in every aspect of her features. Female servants bustled in and out or tentatively approached to hover closely by until an authoritative matron glared at them with ferocity so aggressive that it compelled them to withdraw with lowered eyes. The matron's service had been sought because Pearl, after twenty months of marriage, lay prepared to bring her first child into the world; this was the midwife most respected in their neighborhood of Amsterdam. Hester heard through the barrier of two closed doors, with an anteroom between them, the rough, uneasy cough and anxious step of her son-in-law, and the soothing voice of his father as he attempted to calm him. In answer to Hester's inquisitive glance, the midwife said "Fret thou not, Mrs. Prynne! All shall soon be over and I fear your daughter no evil." The midwife nodded at the door, "Tell thou the two Mr. Allans what thee can; the occupation will be to thy benefit." Hester herself, though loathe to be absent from the room, even for a moment, moved without question at the midwife's bidding and returned swiftly. 

When, at long last, the child was born, and Pearl lay at rest, slipping into much-needed and peaceful sleep, and the child was in the care of the practiced midwife, Hester gathered herself, straightening her garments and forcing into compliance the bits of hair that had rebelliously escaped from the knot behind her head, and went forth to announce the child's arrival to the father. She opened the door and stepped toward her son-in-law, who sat tensely in an armchair, looking up at her between the hands he held before his worried face. "The babe is hardy and healthy," she began, and the young Mr. Allan slumped forward, exhaustion mingling with relief, "and soon ye may see him. What name have ye chosen to bestow upon your firstborn son?" The import of these words occurred to the older Mr. Allan, who moved forward to shake the younger's hand. Now that all was over, and his vast concern found to be excessive, Pearl's husband rose from his chair to accept these congratulations. Then he turned to face Hester, saying as he did so, "Mrs. Allan hath said she wished to name the child Arthur, and so indeed shall he be christened." Hester turned away, hearing him not as he continued, "I have not one objection to that name, for it belonged to the brother of my mother..." She returned to her daughter's chamber, and as Pearl stirred, awakening from sleep, Hester drew back and fastened the curtains, and gazed out the window past an overflowing windowbox of joyful blossoms to behold the great red orb day slipping out of view beyond the sea.

* * *

Hester sat beneath an ancient oak tree whose boughs stretched protectively over the Allan family's country house and garden. A touch of white hair now graced her features, behind her ears and at her temples, as she sat in the dappled light and wrote in a black leather-bound volume. Her work was soon interrupted, however, by the melodious voice of her grandson rising in sweet and joyous laughter, and she released her pen, raising her eyes to see the garden gate swing closed behind the nursemaid, who soon placed herself on a stone bench and hemmed a brown jacket while she kept vigil over her charge. Young Arthur, who was tall for his age, which by this time was six years, now frolicked about the garden, running hither and thither as his inquiring mind urged him to investigate anything new or unusual. Hester watched the nursemaid, who, having completed her sewing, and being ever admiring of the affable child of the family she served, began to weave a wreath of grass for him to wear about his charming head, much in the manner of the Roman heroes of old. Undoubtedly the nursemaid could easily imagine the child, grown to his full stature while retaining his goodness and universal kindness, as worthy of such distinction. 

Before long, Arthur noticed the nurse's occupation, and stood observing her progress, picking her more bits to use, until she offered him the coronet, made as it was of many adeptly intertwined blades freshly plucked from the lawn. Hester still looked on as the child shook his handsome head, and, pointing a slender finger in the direction of the flowerbed, spoke a few words in solemn tones to his guardian. She chuckled agreeably, and answered in, evidently, in the affirmative. Arthur then squatted beside a great rose bush having many pink blossoms, all beaming broadly upward at the smiling sun, and plucked a small flower, not yet entirely open, and handed it to the nursemaid. She leaned forward, tore a few more blades of grass from the soil, used them to affix the sole flower to the coronet, and again offered the child the wreath. This time he danced and clapped his hands gleefully before permitting her to place it on his head.

Still once more, Arthur turned and beckoned to his grandmother, who had heretofore thought herself unnoticed in her observation, calling urgently, "Grandmother Hester! Come thou and see the coronet my nursemaid hath made for ye!" Hester closed the volume in which she had been writing, rose, and strode the ten paces necessary to set her before the child. He stood waiting patiently, with rapt attention, until she paused before him. "Yon pale pink rose adorns thy coronet well, Arthur." she said, "I trust ye hast thanked thy nurse well for it," she finished, glancing at the young woman, who smiled amiably at her young charge with loving admiration clear upon her face. Arthur regarded Hester with a look of wonderment, "Take thou this coronet from me, Grandmother. It is thine, though it is not mine gift nor Nurse's." In a manner containing the gentlest hint of amusement, Hester replied, "Darling, retain ye it, for it is thine; I would not rob thee of its adornment." Arthur laughed aloud at this response. "Take it not then, if thou choosest so, but I shall not have it as if it were mine," he said, in a voice so deep and unlike his own that Hester started, but as he then laughed again, and dashed away, with a graceful tilt of his head that caused the coronet to fall onto the lawn. Hester watched him in wonder as he disappeared through a gate into another portion of the garden, strongly reminded of the days when she cared for a young and passionate Pearl. Then, something stirred within her soul, and with a single unthinking motion she swept forward to retrieve the coronet. A sudden breeze blew the pink rose bush back against the wall of the house, and Hester could see a pair of darker roses growing from the same plant. She noted distantly that the nursemaid had gathered her sewing work and was bustling through the gate after Arthur, murmuring, "Such a oddly singular child, but ever he is cheerful and so very good; he is that indeed!"

Hester, now alone and still fingering the coronet, strode to the bush and examined the remarkable blossoms. She reached out a fingertip to caress their stems, ensuring their reality, and her eyes did not deceive her, for even now a droplet of blood rose where her finger had brushed a thorn. The two blossoms were unlike any she had ever seen or heard tell of, and certainly distinct from all the others growing on the bush. One was black, with many sharp thorns, and the other midnight blue, with a smooth and shiny stem; both flowers called to her. She picked them slowly, deliberately, held them to her bossom, and carried them to her room indoors, placing them in a vase of water and looping the coronet about the rim. Then she fell across her bed, exhausted, and slept fully clothed the whole night through, but rose ere sunrise and watched the dawn break over a stormy sea.

* * *

Hester strolled along the beach with her daughter and young grandson; the nursemaid walked a few paces behind. Mr. Allan had strode ahead of them to greet an acquaintance that happened to be passing by heading the opposite direction, and now called back to his wife, urging her to come forward and engage in converstaion with their friend. All at once Arthur cried out in triumph, and beckoned to his grandmother; he plunged his hands behind a rock that sat underneath the shade of a tree that grew up on a little rise in richer soil than the beach afforded. Arthur promptly walked to Hester, who had been left standing and watching him with the nursemaid alone, and showed her a seabird's nest, woven tightly of twigs and such hardy, rough grasses as grow in sandy environs. 

Hester said, "Arthur, surely ye must not think this nest's owner would wish ye to disturb his very home!" But Arthur, still clutching the nest, pointed in the direction of the rock, and as he led them closer the keen-eyed nurse sighed, saying mournfully, "Ah, the nest's owner must be long gone; look thou there, Mrs. Prynne. Seest thou that poor half-grown bird, perished because he tried to fly ere his wings would bear him?" She tried to lead the child away from the sight of the dead creature, but though at first, with his characteristic good nature, he followed along as she asked, when a moment later the nursemaid tried to influence him to toss aside the nest as well, Arthur broke away with startling strength and feeling, and fled swiftly back to Hester. Placing the nest in her hand, he looked up into her eyes with large brown ones and a set to his brow that suddenly was keenly familiar to her. Then, all at once, he turned, and, responding not to the clucks and scolding of his nurse, permitted himself to be guided away, and looked back at her not once.

Had he turned back, he would have seen a woman standing alone on a beach, with the wind blowing her garments back against her body, and with hair that was grey where not white. He would have observed her peering closely at the nest, and seen her slowly extract a tattered piece of scarlet cloth from amongst the twigs, letting the remainder of the nest fall to her feet and be tossed swiftly away by the breath of the wind. He would have noticed that she then held this torn and weathered piece of cloth with both hands, and clasped it to her bosom. Then, turning away from his grandmother again, he would perhaps have remarked that it seemed that suddenly a storm was brewing, though the day had boded fair.


End file.
